


Fleeting

by smolder



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Fringe, Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-18
Updated: 2012-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-24 17:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smolder/pseuds/smolder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles, one-shot random pairings, and situations with Astrid. Because the poor girl doesn't get enough love in fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Steady

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

His assistant has steady hands.

 

It's one of the first things about her that truly registers to him, that stays in his mind and distinguishes her as more than just another presence in the lab there to hand him things over a cadaver. Other things start to come gradually and attach themselves to form the cohesive not-quite-whole of his memory of her. Her patience. Her curiosity. The way her wondrously curly hair smells slightly of ginger. The little sigh she would let out before cleaning up the mess he had made. How she would give him her full attention – her warm brown eyes bright - when he was telling a story.

 

But his first and constant impression of her is steadiness.


	2. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

_Spoilers for Ep. 3:09_

 

She goes to Astrid because she knows she won't say no. That although she's never approached the other woman outside of work before, she won't deny her now. That she will open her door, open her herself, and offer that warmth – that sense of home that Olivia needs so badly. That she is craving right now.

 

She almost feels ashamed of that knowledge. That she knows Astrid is just there to take advantage of at anytime without complaint. But …she's been so _cold_ since she got back from the other side.

 

So cold.

 

And she can't go home (can't go to Peter), can't find comfort there - because her home isn't hers anymore. It's been tainted. Contaminated by something that looks like her. Worse than a shape shifter, an actual another Olivia.

 

One that took her place and lived her life. Stealing her job, wearing her clothes, using her utensils, reading her mail, sleeping in her bed, sleeping with…..

 

Living her life. And doing a better job of it than she ever did.

 

It feels like she woke up to find her life had been changed while she was dreaming (a strange and disturbing dream). Everything just slightly off. Changed to the preference of someone that was very like her but just enough different to matter. To feel wrong.

 

Everything felt so wrong.

 

She was home but it didn't feel like she remembered. This was her world but it was all cold to her.

 

She wants to be warm again, so with after a deep breath she knocks on the door. It takes a few seconds but finally the door swings open and there she is – Astrid wearing a burgundy terry cloth robe.

 

"Olivia?" she asks and her voice is worried but her eyes are warm and Olivia chokes on a sob.

 

"Olivia," Astrid says again her eyes widening in surprise even as her arms automatically reach out and pull her inside the apartment, closing the door behind.

 

And…and it's warm inside. That shouldn't be the surprise and wonder that it is. That shouldn't break her even more.

 

"Olivia?" she asks a third time, her voice gentle and coaxing in a way Olivia has heard it be many times with Walter. "What's wrong?"

 

She looks up at Astrid and says the only thing she can in a voice so quiet she is surprised the other woman can catch it, "I'm cold."

 

"But Astrid does hear her and everything about her countenance just seems to soften as she pulls the taller woman into a hug.

 

And Olivia just closes her eyes, lets herself go, and melts into.

 

Because this is what she wanted, the comfort she needed but didn't know how to put into words – could never have actually asked for. She tilts her head slightly, feeling curls brush her temple, breathes deeply, and smiles.

 

Warmth. Home.


	3. Strong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title: Strong  
> Author: smolder  
> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

Astrid goes to sleep feeling accomplished that night. Exhausted but accomplished. They had figured out who was using cell towers to interfere with people’s pacemakers yesterday. And today she had finished dealing with the clean up and paperwork.

That was of course on top of her everyday tasks which included getting everyone coffee, milking and brushing Gene, getting everyone lunch, and the constant task of keeping track of Walter (who was antsy because there was no case for him to work on since they were done and therefore kept trying to stack their empty chinese food containers into interesting houses.)

So, when she finally fell in to bed that night she was tired. More than tired. Utterly drained.

She awoke with a deep deep breath filling her lungs and a question still ringing in her mind. A question she remembers answering with utter conviction.

And Astrid doesn’t feel tired at all. She feels _strong._

She knows she should tell someone about this. What she sees everyday lets her knows the dangers of weird things unchecked. (And this can’t be categorized as anything other than _strange_ ).

But part of her bucks against that. This new thing inside of her is primal, is dark, is feminine in an indefinable way, is – is _hers._

It’s hers now. A sudden but now integral part of her and she doesn’t want to loose it. She is afraid that if she walks into the lab today and tells them what happened. They will try to figure it out and stop it – and they will succeed. They will take it from her in some way.

And she can’t have that. She can’t let them steal this from her. She’ll - she'll fight their decision if it comes to it.

 _Fight. Fight. Fight_ , she can almost hear something chant within her – almost picture dozens of young women (girls) circled around hell with determined eyes and blood on their hands. Facing down fears and certain death, banded together strong and fierce against the darkness in this sisterhood.

 _Slayers._

And Astrid has to hold the edge of her kitchen counter and just breathe for a second to steady herself.

No. No, she wouldn’t tell anyone, there was too much at stake. It wasn’t just her secret to tell.

When she takes her hands away from the counter, chunks of plastic break away too. She watches them crumble to the floor with a feeling of trepidation.


	4. Tempting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

  
.

  
Astrid stops her typing and looks up as she hears the door open and the unfamiliar sound of heels clicking against the concrete of the Harvard basement lab's floor. With the team consisting of three men, Olivia (who tends to wear boots) and her it's not a common sound around here. Plus, it's late and she's by herself finishing up reports.

When she sees Nina Sharp dressed all in black, as usual, Astrid doesn't know whether she should feel alarmed or not. But she keeps her calm (as always) while holding on to that little fission of fear that feels entirely prudent when dealing with the woman who leads a company that seems to be at the center (or at least periphery) of every investigation that comes there way.

Massive Dynamic is well - massive. Very aptly named she has thought on more than one occasion. And as someone who’s contribution to solving the case of the week often includes researching – following trails of information, she has seen how subtle and far reaching it is.

So, Astrid is polite to the other woman and instantly gets up from her chair with a smile when she sees her, but keeps that knowledge in her mind always – of the power that is wielded.

“Ms. Sharp,” she addresses her congenially, “I’m sorry but Dr. Bishop has gone home with Peter already. Even Olivia has called it a night.”

“I’m actually here to see you, Agent Farnsworth,” she states with a smile of her own and Astrid pushes down her instant surprise and flutter of nervousness.

“Well,” she asks, “what can I do to help you?”

“I don’t need your help Agent – Astrid. May I call you Astrid?” she asks tilting her head slightly causing her striking red hair to catch the fluorescent light, and Astrid nods in agreement. “Good,” she smiles wider. “Astrid. I don’t need your help – I want to ask you a question.”

Ms. Sharp takes a step closer to her staring at her with a disquieting intensity, “Do you actually feel fulfilled here Astrid? Computers, cryptology…really, Astrid you speak five languages. You could do so much. And here you are,” she whispered, “milking a cow, cleaning up messes, and getting coffee.”

“It’s not that you all don’t do good work here,” she continued, backing off a bit, “The record the Fringe Team here has accumulated speaks for itself, but,” her tone warmed, “you could do good work other places, too.”

Astrid stared for a long moment before taking a deep breath and looking at the floor collecting herself. She swallowed and licked her lips before she spoke, “Ms. Sharp, may I be honest with you?”

“Of course,” the other woman said brightly.

“It’s tempting,” Astrid admitted. “Of course it’s tempting, but that’s why it makes me suspicious. Olivia told us that you tried to recruit her back when we first started down here in the lab. Now Walter technically owns the company although he still prefers to do most of his work here. And we both know that Peter will go wherever Olivia or Walter are.”

She met Nina’s eyes squarely, “I might be mistaken Ms. Sharp, but it almost looks like you’re trying to bring Fringe Division under the control of Massive Dynamic. I suppose I’m a loose end, but I’m afraid I’m going to stay that way. I can be a creature of habit sometimes.”

Nina Sharp silently took that in for a few seconds before a faintly pleased look came over her face and she put out her gloved hand (her right hand) to shake. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other, Astrid.”

“Yes, Ms. Sharp,” she responded, not giving away any of the relief she felt that the intimidating woman didn’t take offense (or curiosity over shaking a bionic hand). “I’m sure we will.”

With a slight swosh of her long coat she turned to leave, but before she was out of sight again she called, “Oh, and Astrid? The offer stands.”


	5. Something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

_Alt-World Astrid_

  
Astrid is not old enough to remember a _before_. She doesn’t have a memory of a time when their world wasn’t coming apart at the seams. She has seen pictures, read the data entries – but Astrid never experienced stretches of forests as far as the eye can see (the blight eradicated it when she was a child), readily available fresh fruit (her grandparent’s used to talk of when it wasn’t an expensive, precious commodity – when it was sold cheaply in grocery stores), wildlife running free and wild outside (now the few species that remain are carefully maintained in conservatories).

It all happened before she was born. This is her life, she knows no other way. No other world.

At 16, she was plucked from one of many groups of gifted students that were being tested by the state department. Put through an extensive training process (that was explained to her parents at the time as summer camp) and was behind a computer 7 months later. Shifting through the rapid influx of data from multiple resources all over the country, deciding what was credible, and re-routing it where it needed to go.

Ten years later and she hasn’t left. (The worried calls from family tapered off after the first two years.)

It is hard to think of whether or not she likes or dislikes what she does. Hard to think in those terms anymore. Hard to think of it as a job - after so many years this has simply become her life and it is what it is. A fact in and of itself in a way.

It is necessary work and she is one of the best there is at it. That is something.

Most of the Fringe field agents tend to go to her with their questions because unlike her comrades, she is able to disengage. Can leave the flow of data and return to it smoothly without breaking her concentration. It is something she is proud of. She isn’t normal – she knows that. But Astrid has never been normal (even before she was chosen for this) and at least here she has been given a use.

That’s all she can really ask for in this world.


	6. Strong (2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci. Buffy the Vampire Slayer belongs to Joss Whedon.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected (except this one!) and won't be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

“There’s something different about you,” Walter says without any preamble and it’s only with extreme self-control that Astrid continues looking straight ahead at the computer.

She doesn’t let her voice shake or give herself away in the slightest as she asks, “Really, Walter? In what way?”

And she doesn’t jump either when he appears on her left side suddenly, just barely in her line of sight. She wasn’t surprised, anyway – she could feel him as he moved throughout the room.

(She could do that with everybody these days. Track them even when she couldn’t see them, even when she wasn’t really paying attention. She could _hunt them_ if she needed to, that part of her whispers.

....It's actually made watching Walter a bit easier.)

He studies her, his eyes serious and face utterly devoid of expression. “It’s the way you move,” he finally says, his voice low and precise. “There is a grace to your movements; a control of your muscles – tension and release -,” Walter makes a fist and opens it again in demonstration and Astrid’s eyes track the movements of his hands automatically, “that is quite new.”

She stays quiet and the tension in the room starts to build but then an almost childishly delighted look comes across his face effectively breaking the feeling. “Agent Farnsworth,” he asks excitedly, even bouncing a bit, “have you been taking _waltzing_ lessons?”

Astrid lets out a startled giggle and swivels her chair so it turns to fully face him, relief flooding through her. “No, Walter,” she says shaking her head. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t been taking any sort of dancing classes lately.”

“Oh,” he frowns. “That is a shame. I think you would be very good at it.”

“Thank you,” she replies, feeling oddly touched.

“Your welcome, Asterix, dear,” he smiles and pats her on the shoulder before something behind her catches his eye, distracting him and he wanders off muttering about root beer floats.

Astrid waits until he is gone before letting out a sigh. She didn’t like lying to him, to any of them, about this - even if it was simply a lie of omission. Because this wasn’t something small; it was major and personal. Seeming to effect her more and more everyday.

There should be someone she could call, someone she could talk to about this – because she knows there are others. She has dreams of the other Slayers but doesn’t know who exactly they are or how to get in contact with them. And she doesn’t know if she really wants to anyway....if that will open her up to certain decisions and responsibilities.

She doesn’t want to live like the girls in her dreams.

Astrid doesn’t want to go out at night and fight odd looking creatures in what appear to be graveyards. She helps fights darkness everyday here with a mad scientist in a quirky basement lab that has it's very own cow. And in the same way she doesn’t want her team to ever have the chance to try to take the Slayer part out of her she doesn’t want the Slayer part of her to have the chance to take away the life she has already.

But things never stay suspended in place forever and she knows eventually something will happen - one way or the other. Astrid just isn’t sure, when the time comes, which side of herself to root for.


	7. Statuesque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

  
It starts with a tingling in her fingertips. The feeling is a bit odd but Astrid doesn't thing much of it.

Next, she starts to get pain and stiffness in her hands. She finds herself involuntarily flexing her fingers and rubbing her joints throughout her days and by the end of the week she has set up an appointment with her doctor. After just-in-case X-rays that find nothing wrong he waves it off as over-strained muscles and recommends a few physical-therapy type exercises she can do at home to build up the strength in her hands.

She doesn't begin to actually feel _scared_ until she gets it in her feet as well. As the pain and stiffness starts moving up into her arms and legs. Until her limbs start feeling....heavy.

It's two weeks after it all first started that her skin starts to turn hard, gray and dry and Astrid realizes, _Oh shit, this might be work related._


	8. Certainty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

 

He is almost _positive_ that she can sing. A lovely voice - strong and clear.

 

He has dreams about it sometimes. Marvelous dreams where they are dancing and Peter is constantly singing "Row, Row, Row Your Boat," in the background. His assistant will smiles that little mischievous smile she gets that always lets him know she is going to follow him - is ready and perfectly willing to help him chase down all the many various flights of fancy his mind may take each day.

 

He treasures that smile.

 

She gives him that smile and without missing a step in their waltz, picks up the song form the beginning when Peter starts the second bit again. She gives him a significant look and he catches her meaning in time to sing his part. The jumble of words somehow manages to bled musically.

 

(Olivia usually makes an appearance at this point. Looking relaxed and happy, riding around them in a wide circle along with her beloved little niece atop Gene. All three of them are wearing birthday hats.)

 

When they get to the end of the round and he hears all of their voices harmonizing together he has to close his eyes at the beauty of it and try not to weep in joy. (He knows Peter gets uncomfortable when he does that).

 

When he opens his eyes again Walter has woken up but he can almost swear he smells ginger. (And scent is, of course, tied to memory).

 

It is _such_ a wonderful dream.


	9. Super

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

**   
**

 

Lightning crawled along her arm. If she spread her fingers wide she could watch it jump in little arcs between them. It was fascinating.

 

Terrifying…but fascinating.

 

“You know, you’ve got them in your hair too,” Peter leaned against the table and said to her with a grin. He reached out to poke a curl only to snatch his hand back quickly when it shocked him.

 

“How’s your control coming?” she asked trying not to show her amusement as he frowned and rubbed his numbed finger. There were fires all the time when this first happened but lately the uncontrollable flares only seemed to coincide with his temper.

 

In response to her question Peter opened his hand and a tiny flame appeared in the center of his palm. She applauded, impressed, (making little sparks to skitter across her skin and a few to jump in the air) and stopping them both from noticing Walter coming up behind them to suddenly clap Peter on the back and brightly exclaim, “Very good, son!”

 

 Which, of course, startled the man in question, causing the tiny flame to flare into a large column before guttering out abruptly.

 

Peter glared at his father but the other man didn’t seem to notice. Partially to divert an argument and partially because the woman hadn’t been in the office yet this morning she asked, “And how’s Olivia doing?”

 

Effectively distracted he sighed, “Not so good”

 

“Hey,” a voice said in a rather annoyed tone, causing them all to jump. “I _can_ hear you.”

 

“But we can’t _see_ you, my dear,” Walter said cheerily before actually skipping off to his work table. All the new powers to experiment with (/on) had made him positively giddy.

 

“Oh,” the voice took on a slightly sheepish tone before Olivia became visible a little ways away from them smiling awkwardly.

 

Although no one would say it out loud, none of them were entirely surprised that out of all the possible super powers one could acquire, Olivia got invisibility. It suited her in a way. She had been trying to blend in, either consciously or subconsciously, her whole life. This was just another means.

 

They were all much more surprised this had happened in the first place. Walter’s later hypothesis was that all Fringe events, in and of themselves, simply radiated their own sort of bizarre power. And after years of working so close with so many of them – well, it had affected them.  (This might or might not be what _actually_ happened, but it was the sole theory they had to go on at the moment.)

 

Astrid got lightning, Peter got fire, Olivia got invisibility, and Walter…Walter was _indestructible_.

 

Nothing seemed to be able to physically hurt him anymore. Ever since they had discovered their powers he had been finding new and different ways to test how far it went. And honestly, they were all slightly scared over what he might try in the lab now that he no longer had his own well being to consider (however little he might seem to do so in the past).  But one good thing was that at least, in these early stages, Peter and Astrid didn’t have to worry about harming him with their often fluctuating powers.

 

Before Olivia could say anything else her phone rang again and she answered it with a frown. Within seconds after she started talking she disappeared again. Olivia’s powers seemed to be linked to her emotions and she had been under a lot of stress with this. Trying to explain Fringe was usually hard enough. Having the entire team suddenly develop super powers added another level of difficulty.

 

(Astrid was putting off letting her know that she was also pretty sure Gene was slightly telekinetic. Just slightly.)

 

“You know there’s only one thing left to do now,” Peter said into the sudden quiet of the room.

 

“Drink?” Astrid responded with a raised eyebrow and quirk of her lips.

 

He let out a bark of a laugh, “Well, I was going to say put on spandex and fight crime, but I think drinking works pretty well in this situation, too.”

 

“Rubber,” Walter muttered not looking up from his welding (which he was doing without protective gear).

 

Astrid and Peter just waited for a moment but he didn’t continue on his own. So, after sharing an amused understanding grin, Peter took the bait and went ahead and asked the question.

 

“What was that, Walter?”

 

“What?” his father asked looking up startled.

 

Peter sighed tiredly settling in mentally for a conversation with his father. “Rubber. You said rubber, Walter.”

 

“Oh, yes, of course,” he grinned, the expression brightening his face. He turned to face the two of them fully still holding the lit torch in his hand. “You were speaking of spandex -,”

 

“We were joking, Walter,” Peter tried to say patiently.

 

“But in the case of Astro,” he continued.

 

“Astrid,” they both corrected automatically.

 

“Although, if you’re looking for superhero names,” Peter muttered in a dry undertone.

 

“And I certainly don’t have to worry about anyone figuring out my real identity if I ever team up with your father,” Astrid giggled.

 

“….a suit of rubber would be more appropriate than one made out of spandex,” Walter had continued as if they weren’t talking.

 

“Wait…,” Astrid said as what she heard hit her. “Did you just suggest I wear a rubber body suit?”

“Yes,” Walter nodded. “With your electrical powers I believe that it would help ground you. Increase your control – keep the current you produce now more internalized.” Misinterpreting her expression he hurried on, “If I am remembering correctly, there are some quite fetching ones made with a mixture of latex at several sexual fetish shops.”

 

Astrid blushed slightly, “I know, Walter. Thank you.”

 

“Ah, good,” he smiled again and returned to his tinkering but she could feel another pair of eyes on her.

 

Another pair of rather amused eyes.

 

“Don’t say _anything_ , Peter,” she warned refusing to look at him.

 

“Hey,” he spread his hands out wide, “I’m not. And I’m certainly not telling you how to dress, Astrid…. but,” he tried hard to keep his grin down, “if we start that superhero team....it _might_ be a look.”


	10. Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci. Stargate belongs to Brad Wright and Jonathan Glassner.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

“It’s really quite fascinating – the way the intersecting language seems to perfectly mirror their movement through the southern…..and I’m boring you aren’t I?” Daniel ducked his head a bit flushing. He had even been gesturing with his fork. Damn, he wanted this date to go well.

“No, no,” Astrid shook her head, smiling widely. “I’m not bored, far from it.” She laid a hand gently on his arm and gave him a smaller, softer, teasing smile. “I love having a chance to geek out on linguistics.”

Daniel glanced at the hand still on his arm and back up at the beautiful woman beside him. “That’s good,” he said, “geeking out on linguistic I can _definitely_ do.”

Astrid gave a giggle and Daniel smiled delightedly. His interest had been peeked when he heard her ordering from the owner of the coffee shop in the man’s native Danish language – speaking completely fluently. When she turned away from the counter and saw him staring at her she had raised an eyebrow and he had quickly looked away. Only glancing back at her out of the corner of his eye as he finished his beverage.

That would have been the end of it, but they both happened to be leaving at the same time and he opened the door for her. She thanked him in English – so, at least two languages his brain had registered happily.

Yet again, his curiosity got the best of him and before she had turned to make her way down the street he yelled out asking for her name. She seemed taken aback at first by his awkwardness, but oddly seemed endeared by it as well.

Astrid. In Colorado Springs for vacation.

They had lunch the next day. And he was enchanted.

Smart, gorgeous, able to speak five languages fluently (and read many more), a slightly sarcastic sense of humor and she had this indefinable warmth about her that made Daniel think he could tell her all the crazy things that had happened in his life and she would understand. And she seemed interested in _him_ as well if he was reading the signs right – at least she had agreed to dinner.

He was actually starting to be afraid she was a plant by NID. The perfect woman for him sent to woo him away from the mountain and SG-1.

Except she well respected when he said what he did for the government was classified - simply nodded and gave a tired understanding smile.

And she was the one going away anyway. Just at the end of the week - back to her very own classified work with the FBI in Boston.

And-and he didn’t want her to go. He _really_ liked Astrid. It was hard to find someone that you could connect to, even harder when you had to lie or talk around so much of what you did – things that had affected you deeply.

But he thought he might be able to with Astrid. He felt a connection with her that he thought if things were better – if he had a normal job and they lived in the same place – they could build on and create something good. Something _real._

“What’s wrong?” she asked and he realized he had drifted off into his thoughts for quite a while.

Daniel tried to smile, but it felt false and he didn’t want to lie to her where it was unnecessary so he said, “Us. It’s just – I’ll miss you.”

Astrid bit her lip and looked like she understood at least a little of what he meant. A moment later though something hardened behind her eyes and she nodded determinedly before leaning around the diners’ little wrap around booth towards him. Her lips on his were a surprise.

A very pleasant surprise.

She pulled away until she could look him straight on. “I’ll miss you too,” she whispered. “But for right now let’s concentrate on making some memories that we can both think happily about after I go back to Boston. For those long hours at work between emergencies,” her soft brown eyes twinkled at him playfully.

He couldn't do anything but stare. Damn. She was perfect for him.

Resolutely though, he pulled out his wallet, paid for their dinner, stood up, and reached out a hand to her. She grabbed both of their coats before getting up and intertwining their fingers. And he had to smile sheepishly as they left at forgetting his, but if all he was getting was a few days with Astrid, he wanted them to spend as much time as possible.

Talking, reading, perhaps….something more. He glanced over at her as they got in his car and she wasted no time in taking his look as invitation to kiss him again.

 _Definitely something more._


	11. Possible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci. Kim Possible belongs to Mark McCorkle and Bob Schooley.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

Her younger brother refers to Walter as Dr. D when they talk about him on the phone.

She’s not even sure if he knows any of her teams’ actual names anymore really. At first she had attempted to correct him but stopped trying after awhile (part of her was flat out amused at the possibility she saw in her head of Mathias meeting them one day,messing up and forgetting their names like hers’ was everyday). Cartoons watched while she baby-sat him when they were both much younger have long been part of their common vocabulary.

Part of her still balked against it though because the “Kim Possible” analogy was far from being a perfect one.

The title character might work alright. Olivia fighting bad guys – she didn’t have gadgets or kung fu like Kim (more detective than action star, although she could mix it up) but she was still utterly determined and willing to drop her private life at a moments notice if she was needed.

That would mean Peter was Ron, which was made her giggle just to think about it. Other than equating loyalty, that really didn’t fit.

The Dr. Drakken to Dr. Bishop comparison that had started this whole thing off both was showing more similarities the more she poked at it in her head. Dr. Bishop wasn’t going for world domination, but the scary thing was that if he was trying, if it was him making those plans and not Dr. Drakken, he might actually do it. Then again in the cartoon Dr. Drakken hadn’t actually been bad at all. Many times he was over emotional and sensitive to criticism. And in the end he had even helped to save the day from aliens using his new-found, accidentally self-inflicted plant powers, earning what he had truly wanted all along, recognition from the scientific community and world at large.

….it had been an odd show.

(Would Gene be their Rufus? Oh God, she was giving this _way_ too much thought.)

But where did that leave her in this analogy? She supposed she would most logically be Wade. That would even be kinda cool and somewhat apt. She was good with computers, always in the background, constantly available.

Part of her twisted away from that though. The same part that dressed up at as a princess every year for Halloween even when she was right in the middle of her feminist stage in college. That part of her that reveled in not only being a girl but being girly.

Wade was wonderful, component and very clearly a good guy but......Shego was _awesome._

And she had to help out her Dr. D, after all.


	12. Nothing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.  
> WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH

The phone call comes too late.

Astrid has no warning. No chance for her body to tense or for her to feel afraid. There is music blasting that Walter put on that she never bothered to turn off when the three left, so she never hears the even unhurried footsteps behind her.

A hand in her hair pulling her head back and a pressure across her throat - pressure that doesn’t even register as sharp until she is already bleeding out on the floor.

“Why?” she asks looking up at her attacker and it comes out gurgling and bloody.

He crouches down in his black suit holding his hat, that he just picked back up from the counter, in one hand and the knife he just killed her with in the other. Her eyes catch on the play of light on his bald head before they fall on his impassive face. Astrid is sure she knew his name once – they all had month names, right? – but details are slipping from her fast. Becoming lost all the quicker the harder she tries to grab them. Sand. Something about sand.

“You played your part. It is over. Now the balance must be restored,” he says plainly.

“What-?” she tries to ask but this time it doesn’t come out at all. Not even a gurgling sound.

Vocalizing her question is unnecessary for him though and he tilts his head, almost bird like, as if listening, “What did I ever do to upset the balance? I’m not Walter. Or Olivia. Or Peter.”

Astrid is unable to even nod but it wasn’t really a question anyway, he was reading her mind - saying what she would have said if she could. And he continues with his answer without a pause.

“Nothing. Your death will push the others to fix what has already been broken. At least,” he admits, “that is one possibility.” He pauses. “I am going to leave now.”

Then he does.

Distantly Astrid hears the record stop.


	13. Academic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

Walter loved teaching.

She noticed that about him right away.

He seemed lucid, relaxed, animated, and completely in his element when he was giving a demonstration of some kind to explain his theory on the most recent weirdness to them in a way they could understand.

Complete with props.

Walter was so far above them all mentally to an astonishing degree – even now when he was diminished from what he had been before. (And Astrid can say that without feeling like she is slighting herself whatsoever.) But for someone who had so much going on his head (not all of which is linear), he seemed to adore talking things out.

Making metaphors and examples. Going off on tangents and getting lost in stories.

The others might get angry or frustrated and simply want him to hurry along to the point most of the time – and for good reason, their cases did tend to come absurdly down to the wire. But really, Astrid didn’t mind.

She had always enjoyed being a student


	14. Little Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

  
  
  
  
_Pre- Ep. 4:08_  
  
  
  
Peter is such an outsider looking in here. And at first he had tried to find his place, tried to see where he would fit, but this is simply a world wholly formed without him.  
  
He doesn’t belong and it is best (safest for his own emotions, his own sanity) not to try. To focus on getting back to _his_ life, _his_ timeline.  
  
So as he watches (he very purposefully tries not to even use the term observe even in his own head. He wants to have as little similarities as possible to those beings who in this timeline for some reason decided not to save him.) and tries to just think of all the little differences he sees as just that – _differences_ , just things that turned out different without him. But he _can’t_ because somehow everything - _everything_ in his timeline wasn't just different it was _better_.  
  
And, yes, he is aware of how cocky and self-important that sounds.  
  
But, this Fringe team lacks the sense of family that his had grown to have. There is trust and steady professionalism that dips quick and deep into the close intimacy of the friendship/family bond (the one that was hard fought for by all and now was shared so casually in his team – God, he misses being a part of it) and pulls back out just as fast so that walls can stay maintained.  
  
Secrets, hard truths, haven’t been found and shared here. Trust hasn’t been cracked and broken multiple times only to reform into something stronger. (And Peter really doesn’t want to play the part of messenger. This might not be his Olivia but he knows how hard it was on her in his timeline.)  
  
But, Olivia wasn't the only one struggling to find answers in this fractured world. They're all somehow even more of a damaged rat-tag group now without him then they were before. Peter would find it flattering if it didn't hurt so much.  
  
And it does hurt to be in the same room as this version of his father, to even let himself think about Walter and his denial. Walter and him… _his_ Walter that is, had had to work so hard to get to where they were before he got in the machine. To get to a place where there was love and trust but still the ability to let go. To have him be his father.  
  
Even having a version of Walter ignoring him because he felt he didn’t deserve him. Because – _shit_ – because in this world both universes’ Peters had died and his wife had committed suicide. It hurt. But beyond the personal sting of parental rejection it hurt so much more to see how badly messed up he was. How not having a next of kin here, not having _a Peter_ , he only felt safe living in the lab. Guarded by an agent.  
  
..there is something so wrong about that. He had to keep reminding himself that this wasn’t his home. This wasn’t his fight. Wasn’t his world. Wasn’t his timeline.  
  
He had to get back to that.  
  
Because if he didn’t he’d want to try to find a place here (fight to form those bonds, those relationships), watch out for this Walter like he did his own. He complained constantly about the way he used to have to babysit his Father but looking at the alternative….  
  
It’s partially what probably shaped them though. The Fringe team here - really it has to be. Here everyone sees Water at his worst and seems to know how to calm him, know how to deal with his moods.  
  
Astrid seems the least changed to his eyes. Tailored jackets replace the cardigans of before - here though she not only assists Walter in the lab but is like another arm for him, going out in the field where he doesn’t feel safe. Following his instructions and translating his not always strictly polite responses or nonsensical theories with a mixture of patience, bemusement, and that slight roll of the eye or raise of the eyebrow signaling her opinion on what had been said in her ear in such a way that is utterly familiar.  
  
He feels incredibly grateful towards her. Both Lincoln and her. They were the only two that actually treated him like a person – perhaps because Walter and Olivia had both had odd experiences leading up to his appearance and everyone else was treating him as a possible threat. But Lincoln was new to Fringe here and just saw him as another guy caught up in weird circumstances – which was something the agent identified a lot with at the moment. And to Astrid he was a stranger who was a part of a Fringe case but Peter always seemed to forget just how good she was with people. How she was the presence in the lab that somehow made random people comfortable going along with his fathers’ – or this world’s Dr. Bishop’s - crazy experiments on them. It was so easy to dismiss that sense of comfort until it was turned on him.  
  
In the case of both Lincoln and Astrid it was non-intrusive and utterly casual, utterly _human_ , and that only made it so much more appreciated because it felt more genuine the more days he slept in a dark, perfectly square room, that could only be opened from the outside (caged. The parallels to his fathers' time in St. Claire's are not lost on him especially after the Walter here starts refusing to see him). And even after that when he was alone in a house that he shared – was supposed to be sharing – with his father. When these things were all so _wrong_ having Lincoln wave when he sees him enter the federal building, just a quick raise of the arm in recognition before he goes back to his work. Or to have Astrid bring him a cup of coffee while he was pouring over information about the machine in the lab – leaving it on his desk as she passed, not expecting a thank you (and when he took a sip it was exactly how he preferred it. She must have mentally taken note just as his Astrid had within his first few days in the Harvard Lab with her back home.)  
  
Until he got back, these little things. They meant _everything._ They were his armor against suspicions (or worse unrecognizing) stares from eyes that were once so warm when they looked at him, when they first opened up in the morning. ( _It’s not his Olivia. It’s not._ ) His armor against fathers that lost him twice and don’t want to allow for the chance of a third. His armor against a world that sees him as an anomaly, a Fringe event, first and a person second – or third.  
  
These little things will keep him sane.


	15. Shared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing. Fringe belongs to J. J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci.  
> A/N: These drabbles aren't connected and won't always be in chronological order.  
> A/N 2: Reviews are Good. This has been a subtle hint from the author - Please return to your regularly scheduled reading.

  
  
_Cortexiphan AU_  
  
  
  
Astrid is fascinated by every aspect of the drug trial.  
  
Oh – study. Game? They aren’t supposed to call it a drug trial (but Astrid has seen the paper work on the clip boards, the graphs left on the assistants desks while she’s waiting for her Dad to pick her up. She knows what this is). The adults have corrected her on this every time (their eyes getting wide and panicked for a second and their smiles a bit _too_ big as they talk too quickly and assure her that no, no this isn’t a drug trial. Then utterly seriously - don’t tell anyone that.) but their replacement word keeps changing depending on who she slips up with.  
  
The problem is, she’s always been a kid interested in science and never one to shy away from doctors. She isn’t afraid to ask them almost as many questions as they ask her. Watching the entire time the needle slips under her skin promptly and efficiently secured in place. And then the deep red-bronze translucent liquid swirls down through the tube into her IV and into _her_.  
  
Astrid imagines it traveling up her arm (crawling inside her veins like the little red fire ants outside on the playground) – crawling up, up, up. Up her arm, up her shoulder, up her neck, up her face.  
  
Until it is inside of her brain.  
  
And suddenly she cannot think of those sorts of things anymore.  
  
She knows it is hard to breathe. She is pretty sure she screams sometimes.  
  
Other parts…what happens after her eyes flutter shut (has she been running? She does feel tired afterwards. Swimming…her mind automatically rejects that and jumps to _drowning_. But that can't be right because she isn’t wet….and she didn’t leave the chair.) Astrid never clearly remembers.  
  
But she does start to feel different.   
  
***  
  
Following Dr. Walter’s instruction, standing around in a circle with some others her eyes meet those of another kid - Olive. She knows _of_ her of course (although since she the other girl is a few years older and is part of the Army Base group and hers’ is usually at the University, they aren’t often mixed. But Astrid was told she would start doing her “activities” here now since her old partner moved away and a new one has yet to be arranged for her), Olive is gossiped about though as the Dr.’s favorite. The one the most test are done on.   
  
And she isn’t hard to pick out - there aren’t that many of them and Olive’s waist length straight-as-pin blonde hair is as easily recognizable as Astrid’s own crazy set of curls.   
  
(There is also another identifiable feature that points to this being _the_ Olive. Bruises. The blue and purple that currently curl around her wrist like someone grabbed her too hard.)  
  
Astrid’s eyes meet hers and she smiles brightly, her Mom always told her it didn’t hurt to try and be friendly. After a moment of hesitation Olive smiles back.  
  
***  
  
The low thrumming starts as soon as her dad gets home.   
  
She kept rubbing her eyes trying to get the feeling to ease up in her head.  
  
“You alright, kiddo?” her Daddy asks her putting a hand on her shoulder.  
  
“Dad,” she gasps taking his hand in both of hers, “what happened?”  
  
He gives a sigh but doesn’t try to pull away from her grip, although she knows he could. “Just an accident at work honey. Book case fell over and I tried to catch it,” he shook his head. As he is talking Astrid keeps eye contact and struggles to concentrate over a feeling of sudden warmth in her head, in her hands. Of sudden pain in her own arm. “Don’t worry about it. It’s,” he looks down at his arm, puzzled and Astrid follows his gaze to an arm that looks much different than it did before, “actually it’s feeling much better now. Huh.”  
  
He gently pulled away from her and Astrid lets him, suddenly feeling really sleepy and she can’t help but notice that the thrumming is gone. Her father is staring at his arm flexing his fingers. “That’s really strange,” he said. “I could have sworn it was-”  
  
“Daddy,” Astrid whispered and her Father instantly looked over at her. “I think I should go to bed no-“ she interrupts herself by yawning widely.  
  
Her Father chuckled and kissed her on the head. “Of course, sweety. Don’t forget to brush your teeth n-OW,” he fake yawns, teasing her.  
  
Astrid let out a giggle and smiled at him (always smile) before turning to run upstairs. Once in her own room she pushed up her sleeve to look at what she already knew was there – bruises identical to the ones her father had gotten that day.  
  
The bruises they now _shared_ , pain halved for both of them.  
  
They would show up though (just like they had on her Father’s arm) if she wore short sleeves…or when she went back to drug trials. She didn’t want questions, something in her wanted to hide and protect this power (ability? she wasn’t sure what it was) until she understood it.   
  
As if reacting to her worry the bruises started to move - startled she quickly pulled off her shirt wanting to keep track of them. When her eyes were on the dark shadows under her skin (oddly warm and painful as they moved, but a tingly sort of pain like she banged her elbow) again they had settled near her rib cage.  
  
Biting her lip Astrid poked them and let out a startled whimper. As unreal as this all seemed, those _were_ real. And they hurt.  
  
***  
  
  
“Can you move them on me too?” was Olive's very first question after she had pulled the other girl behind a tree to tell her what happened and show her. She watched the injuries travel with an intensity Astrid both wanted to and wasn’t sure she wanted to understand. “Can you make sure no one sees,” she whispered pushing up her own sleeve and showing more bruises than Astrid had noticed when she first met her and the thrumming that had started when Olive entered the building today (even before Astrid saw her) racketed up in intensity.  
  
Somehow these looked worse than those that had been on her Father’s arm – even though his had been deeper, harsher bruises. But these were angrier, shaped like a hand, and just looking at them made her want to cry.   
  
And part of that was the fact that Olive didn’t want her to try and help, (like the thrumming in her head was pushing her to do. So, much so it was hard to articulate even her _thoughts_ ). No, Olive just wanted her to move them so that no one would see. No one would ask leading questions about who made those marks.   
  
So she could hide. ( _And wouldn't hiding them mean hiding for him too?_ )  
  
But, Astrid had practiced moving them on herself a lot and by this point was pretty sure she _could_ move them on someone else. “No,” she answered solidly. And for some reason (even though it was a lie) it felt like the right answer.  
  
Olive didn’t push her, just bit her lip and nodded as if she already knew the answer.  
  
“But-,” Astrid offered, “I can,” she stumbled as tried to explain over the feeling behind her eyes - reaching out before Olive dropped her arm again. “We could share them?” Astrid offered tentatively. The other girl breathed in harshly through her nose and pulled her arm to her chest but hadn’t covered it yet so Astrid kept talking.  
  
“When I heal,” she stumbled over the word she’d never used in such a way before, “I only take half. So, we’re _both_ healing. And that way it will go away quicker,” she tried to explain. The other girl was wavering and so Astrid through out her last try, resorting to begging. “ _Please_ , there is this thrumming in my head and it won’t go away until you let me help. _Please_.”  
  
“Alright,” Olive gave in placing her arm in Astrid’s hands (oddly mirroring her father). And on instinct, Astrid looked into her green eyes and thought about how much more she wished she could help, how much more she knew was wrong but couldn’t do anything about.   
  
The warmth in her head and hands wasn’t unexpected this time – the wash of _fear_ and _helplessness_ that accompanied the pain in her arm this time was.   
  
Without missing a beat she didn’t let it effect her, didn’t let it show on her face, and anyway, Olive was wide-eyed and smiling, fascinated by the oddness of what had happened. She almost giggled when Astrid made the bruises make a circle (like a bizarre circus trick) before settling with the others at her hip before pulling her shirt back down.  
  
(Astrid just kept calm, kept smiling – just like her mother used to tell her to.)   
  
Olive is the favorite, the strong one. But perhaps _sometimes_ someone else has to be strong for the strong ones.  
  
So, she didn’t let it show that something in her still strummed - wondered if she could half it again.   
  
And again.  
  
Pull all of Olive’s pain into her until the thrumming stopped. She can keep it hidden and heal it for her.   
  
She could. She _knows_ she could.  
  
But the problem is, Astrid already knows it won’t really work (at least not for very long) because Olive will just be hurt again ( _helplessness-fear-stop-please_ ). And there is only so many times Astrid can do this before her Daddy notices.   
  
Nick suddenly runs around their tree out of breath and surprised to see them.   
  
“Are you hiding too?” he asks whispering as best he can while panting.   
  
“We weren’t,” Astrid says eager to get her brain far away from this subject now, “but I’d like to. Who’s ‘It’?”  
  
“Su-“ he starts to say.  
  
“-san,” the curly haired girl in question finishes, smiling wickedly and everyone squeals and scatters running in all directions.   
  
Astrid is heading towards the daycare building and Olive outpaces her with her longer legs sure to reach the alcove she was aiming for first but with a grin she grabs Astrid’s arm to tow her along quicker. They get there together laughing and breathing hard, leaning against the brick.  
  
Before they can collect their breath, Dr. Walter opens the door causing them to startle and try to straighten up but he is smiling at them in that peculiar way of his.  
  
“No, no it’s quite all right. But after break you'll be doing some testing,” he says.  
  
“Alright,” Olive responds automatically.  
  
This time he chuckles, shaking his head and although she is usually comfortable with him (he is the only one that doesn’t seem startled by her questions most of the time) this time when he looks at her she gets a bad feeling. “No, not just you Olive, dear. The two of you together.”


End file.
